


Close to Me Anthology

by RadiationGroove



Series: Close to Me [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiationGroove/pseuds/RadiationGroove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short works taking place within the confines of "Close to Me"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kingsport

“This is amazing...I've never seen anything so beautiful.”

From the top of the Kingsport Lighthouse, Steph could see forever. Mac's voice was reverent, soft as he stood beside her, sunset cast across sharp features. Moments of quiet, like this, were few and far between; they were both winded from minor battle with Children of Atom fanatics, a little queasy from Gamma gun radiation. Before them to the East was the water, shimmering purple, the shadow of the lighthouse tower rippling with each wave. Behind them, West, were mountains, dark from the setting sun, and the a Commonwealth, painted every shade of pink, purple, and orange available to the imagination. The Prydwen, the Brotherhood airship, was docked at Boston airport to their South, a hazy shape in the dimming light. To the North was Salem, a sleepy remnant of what once was. RJ wasn't wrong; it was amazing. 

Stephanie hummed, a gentle sound. “Y’almost forget that the world ended…” Forearms braced against the railing, cool evening ocean air ruffling her hair, she was content to stay there for a moment. The way the waves lapped at the shore, the quiet...she relaxed. 

Mac found himself staring, watching her watch the ocean, warmth reflected in brown eyes. He'd noticed her age since their meeting; the Commonwealth did that to people. Stephanie Adams was twenty-six when she went into the vault but could easily pass for ten years older. The dark circles under her eyes seemed to deepen by the day and soft Pre-War curves were turning into hard muscle. Her hands, long fingers and narrow palms, developed callouses, nicks and cuts from harsh use. She was no longer fair and delicate. 

There was something about her that reminded him of Lucy, and each time the thought crossed his mind his heart gave a painful throb. Both women were sweet and kind, willing to do anything for those in need. Both were charming and had infectious laughs. Both women were good mothers, no matter how short they'd held the title. He loved both without reason or question, and they loved him in return the same. 

The difference? Stephanie survived, thrived. Lived. 

So MacCready studied her, the line of her jaw, the subtle wrinkles at her eye, the bow of her lips, the slope of her nose. He committed to memory the details, the places where cuts had turned to scar, the edges of her nails where she'd picked the cuticle, the way her thumb twisted the simple gold band on her left hand.

The urge struck him to correct himself, to tell her that she’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a damn long time. The words escaped him. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close and press a kiss to her temple, simple and silent. Stephanie hummed again, a sound of pure contentment against his shoulder. They fit together seamlessly, and he was often unsure of where one began and the other started. 

“We should get movin’,” Steph mused, leaning into Mac’s bony shoulder, “before it gets too dark. We’ve got some miles to go.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, quick and soft. Then it was footsteps, the shifting of her pack on her shoulder as she started down the stairs.

Mac could only smirk in response and follow behind his girl. Yeah...this is amazing.


	2. Sugar Bomb

_Pap._  
 _Pap._  
 _Pap._  
  
The third time something bounced off the side of MacCready’s face made him genuinely curious. “What are you doing over there? What’re you throwing at me? Come back to bed, Steph.”  
  
“I found the Sugar Bombs. I’m _sharing_ , Mac. Hey, do we have any cigarettes?”  
  
Stephanie was rummaging through his pack, naked, a box of cereal tucked under one arm. _God, if you’re up there, please keep her bent over like that._ She found her prize, and a lighter, and sauntered back to bed, all hips and swivel and skin. Mac tucked his hands behind his head. If someone had told RJ MacCready a year ago that he would be lounging naked with a beautiful woman from two-hundred years ago who loved him damn near unconditionally, he would have blatantly laughed in their face. They were at her place tonight in Diamond City, far from the prying eyes of her settlement at Sanctuary. It was quiet and clean and the neighbors didn’t bother the couple unless they were entirely too unruly. The bed shifted under her weight and she lightly nudged his foot, a cigarette extended in one hand. He took it gratefully and balanced it between his lips. She lit her own and sat cross legged across from him in their pile of sheets. They relaxed in a cloud, the room smelling of smoke and sex and sickeningly sweet cereal.  
  
“Eat some of this, please?” Stephanie settled the box between them, speaking around the filter of her cigarette. "The only thing you’ve put into your body today has been water and half a box of Fancy Lads, which ew, and I don’t want to eat an entire box of Sugar Bombs on my own.”  
  
Mac brushed his fingers through the front of her mussed hair with a soft smile. He adored how much she took care of him, and gave into her mothering with a handful of cereal. "Alright, alright. This stuffs just as bad for y-"  
  
 _Pap._  
  
Another Sugar Bomb hit him square between the eyes, and Stephanie couldn’t help her rambunctious, snorting laughter.  
  
 _Pappappappappappappap_  
  
Sugar Bombs pelted Stephanie across her bare breasts. “Oh, that’s _real_ mature, MacCready. Crumbs all over me now...”  
  
“You started it, boss.” Ever cocky, MacCready resumed his entirely too-relaxed state. "Not my fault if you have crumbs stick to your as- your butt."  
  
"And I'm finishing it,” came the breathy voice in his ear and her weight on his legs as she straddled his lap. She extinguished her cigarette against the wall and flicked the butt across the room. The box of cereal migrated to the floor where it toppled over harmlessly. “I thought we discussed the whole ‘boss’ thing, Mac.” Kisses on his neck and her tongue grazing his earlobe said that yes, indeed, she had finished it.  
  
"Again, Steph?" It was a rumble through his chest when he pulled her close, calloused hands wandering waist to hip to ass.  
  
She hummed, hands planted firmly on his hips. "Again? Hmm ...Yes. If you think you can handle round two, RJ. Wouldn't want to over exert you."  
  
"Oh, that's not the only thing I can handle..." MacCready practically purred, his cigarette bobbing around the words, eyes half-lidded, gripping her ass tight with both hands. “And we’ve gotta worry about wearing you out, especially at _your_ age…”  
  
“Smartass.”  
  
The blonde ground her hips against Mac's lap, his warm, solid hands providing a wonderful barrier to roll against. Her fingers gripped his smoke and it received the same treatment as hers: extinguished and discarded somewhere on the other side of the room. Later MacCready would fuss over the garbage and the crumbs. Now? Now her tongue brushed against his lips and she kissed him and who the fuck cared? Now her dainty fingers had his scruffy chin in their grasp and were slowly, lazily working on making him hard again.  
  
It didn’t take much doing.  
  
Several light kisses between them and Stephanie shifted, Mac’s cock still in her delicate grasp, and lifted herself from his lap. Stroke one, stroke two. Stephanie lowered herself with a low giggle and he was buried inside her. There was little time for him to truly appreciate her shuddering sigh; she was rocking her hips against him and Mac found himself dizzy. There was push and pull, his hands tugging her closer via her backside. Mac was warm and comfortable, planting kisses to this elegant neck and shoulder. Stephanie braced her hand against the wall behind Mac’s head, fingers searching for something to grip.  
  
Nothing short of lazy pleasure began to boil, shaking breaths morphing into soft keening buried in his hair. Everything was slow and hazy, like moving through warm honey. Breath came hot on her chest, ghosting over her breasts before nibbling at the skin there. It was now that he was least conscious of his mangled teeth and was more than happy to leave behind uneven rings of marks in her skin. One rough calloused hand slid up her back, fingers splayed wide over the vast expanse of skin. The other made its way lower, between the juncture of their bodies, to brush the pad of a finger over her clit.  
  
The moan from her belly and the cat-like smile of satisfaction were encouraging. “ _O-ohh_ …You’re learning…”  
  
“Good tea-teacher…” His voice faltered, his praise ending in a soft groan.  
  
Between the bounce of her hips and the torture Mac wrought with his trigger finger, Stephanie felt the familiar coil of orgasm slide up into her belly. There was urgency now, her arms slipping around his shoulders for support and leverage while she rode him. Mac began to moan more freely, forehead pressed against his girls. If he could disappear into her body he would.

The whimpered chanting of his name over and over meant she was on the verge, meant that the snap was around the corner. The fingers between her legs pressed harder, moved faster. Steph cried into his shoulder between clenched teeth, tremor after tremor wrecking her. Nails dug into his skin near hard enough to draw blood. He bucked into her two or three more times before coming himself, clutching at her desperately. Later he'd praise himself for his timing.  
  
Somewhere in Diamond City, Travis was yammering away on the radio and a cool breeze rustled through the stadium. The lovers at Home Plate held each other, breath becoming more and more even by the second, kisses dropped on shoulders and necks. MacCready shifted, an arm wrapped securely around her waist, and settled her into the pillows. He nuzzled his face into his blonde Vault Dwellers shoulder, her fingers carding through his hair. There had been little chances to be a child in MacCready’s life, little opportunity for softness and kindness and light outside Lucy and Duncan, so this? Being held and feeling safe and satisfied? This was better than all the caps in the world.  
  
"I've been thinkin'," she began sleepily, tracing over the crest of his ear and down the back of his neck to trace patterns between his shoulder blades.  
  
The merc cracked one baby blue and hummed into her skin. "Never a good sign. This gonna get us in trouble?"  
  
Stephanie laughed, and it was music to his ears, "No, I was thinking...I have no reason to be in the Commonwealth anymore. Shaun…It’s dealt with.” She paused, let her heart hurt for a single throb, and continued. “And you? Daisy's caravan contact has been to the Capital and back three? Four times? Duncan's had his cure for months now." Mac grunted in acknowledgement and snuggled closer into her breast. "RJ, maybe we should go home."  
  
We? Home? The words didn't make any sense to MacCready, and he rolled, propped himself up on his elbows. He blinked at her, slowly. Maybe he was just too tired, not hearing her correctly. His brow furrowed, earning him a soft, sleepy smile.  
  
"Honey, when was the last time you saw Duncan? He was so sick, and probably scared, RJ, and he needs his dad."  
  
And you wanna just drop everything and go? That's a hel-…that’s a long trip, Boston to DC. Especially for a little farm in the middle of nowhere. What about bringing Duncan here?"  
  
Stephanie smiled, "'I plan on walking this earth with you until the day I die. That give you enough of a clue?'" She kissed his nose, he rolled his eyes. "It'll be good for us, I think, and do you really wanna put him through that? Hiring some caravan guard whose express purpose is just to transport your son? You said it yourself, that's a long trip, especially for someone so little."  
  
RJ MacCready let out an overwhelmed puff of air and shook his head. She was right. Of course she was right. But that was the Capital Wasteland and this was the Commonwealth and for a while, and it didn't feel like he was living the same life. Marrying the two was...scary. "Okay! Okay. Couple days to take care of stuff here and we'll...we'll head for the Capital Wasteland."  
  
"Okay. That's the plan." Stephanie kissed him sweetly, and MacCready cursed himself for being so soft when it came to her.  
  
"Oh, and we're bringing the dog."


	3. On a Post-It Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How you said ‘I love you’- On a post-it note

Steph had responsibilities. General of a small army was a full-time job. They’d been lucky so far. As the Minutemen grew, the Commonwealth was requiring Stephanie’s direct assistance less and less often. He'd never say it aloud, but MacCready was thrilled. With regards to the Vault Dweller, he was selfish; he wanted, no, required, as much of her attention as he could get. She spent more nights tangled in his arms in Diamond City than abroad, and those times when she was gone were brief. 

However, she was still General, and she did have to perform certain duties. Once a month, sometimes more frequently, they traveled to the Castle. She met with Preston and Ronnie to determine where strengths and weaknesses lie and prioritize the settlements under their care that requires the most help. To listen to them, Mac may have pegged Stephanie as some great military strategist in the Old World; she’d simply been a child advocacy lawyer and mother. 

General Adams (she loathed the formal title) and RJ MacCready arrived at the Castle at sunset, the horizon turning the water shades of orange and pink. There was little time to get settled; Steph barely dropped her bags in her quarters before Preston was at her side. The Minuteman had plenty to say, and Mac didn't really mind him when it came down to it. Garvey just wanted to do right by the Commonwealth and its people, which was admirable. Stephanie liked him, enjoyed working with him, and that was all that mattered. Almost instantly the pair dove into deep conversation. Steph left him with a gentle, albeit distracted, touch to his forearm. 

MacCready wandered the Castle, lost himself in the tunnels below. For a million reasons MacCready hated the Castle. Everything was always damp and smelled of wet and Mirelurk, even though the crabs were gone. Sometimes it was just too quiet and he could hear his ears ring. Even at midnight in Diamond City there was the hum of a generator, Taka cooking noodles, or bawdy laughter from the Dugout. The worn stone was welcome and familiar, more like Little Lamplight than he'd initially realized. Rock gave way to winding passageways, small cramped spaces that reminded him of childhood. His return topside found Stephanie, Garvey, the eternally sour Ronnie Shaw pouring over a map by candlelight. If any noticed, they didn't acknowledge him; he crept away (with a childish pout he'd later deny) to bed. 

RJ slept soundly through the night, unmoving when his girlfriend curled her arms around his waist and snuggled close to his back. He didn’t notice the warmth of another body beneath the sheets or the soft lips pressed against his shoulder. Mac didn’t notice when that body left in the morning. He did notice, however, the yellow scrap of paper stuck to the table beside him when he woke. 

_RJ,_  
Patrolling with Shaw-  
Look up!  
Love you!  
-S 

The note was signed with a heart, hanging on by a corner. Stephanie's scrawl was loopy and round, each letter slightly overlapping the next; he liked the way his name looked in her handwriting. The note was folded and tucked carefully into a pocket. 

Once dressed and blinking in the harsh light of day, Mac and his empty belly made an appearance in the courtyard. Above, on the Castles’ ramparts, Steph patrolled beside the older woman, decked in her uniform. Shaw barked away about something, Mac could neither hear nor did he care, but Steph caught his eye with a bright grin. 

“Mornin’, General. Shaw.” 

“‘Bout time you got your bony ass outta bed, MacCready,” Ronnie smirked, enjoying the roll of the mercs eyes. 

“Don't suppose I could have the privilege of General Adams’ company for breakfast, could I?” He grinned a mouth of crooked teeth, hands planted firmly on his hips. 

It was Stephanie's turn to grin, all white teeth. “What makes you think there's any breakfast left?” His face fell and she laughed; Mac could listen to that forever. “Come up, grab a box of Sugar Bombs.”

So he did, and the pair of them passed the box back and forth, their feet hanging over the worn stonework. “General Adams” was gone, turned off like a light. She was just Steph, pressed shoulder to shoulder with RJ, and nothing more.


	4. Mother and Child

“Mama?” **  
**

“Yeah, sweetpea?”

“Will you please paint my nails like yours?”

The question didn’t come too much of a surprise. Duncan liked to sit with her while she gave her own tired hands a manicure. Indeed, the act became something of a ritual for mother and son. He picked the color for her, each time something different, each time climbing onto the chair beside her to watch. He talked the most then, particularly on her return home from the Castle, and about everything from school to the comics RJ read aloud to him before bed.

“Of course, Duncan. Hop up in your chair.”

Duncan’s arrival in her life healed a deep wound in her heart. He was everything she dreamed he would be, and everything she could ever want. He laughed and he laughed infectious peals with his entire body. He cried and it was as if his world would never be the same, and all Stephanie wanted to do was make it right. She saw so much of RJ in Duncan, and so much of what could only be Lucy.

There was a moment, before Steph set brush to nail, that she marveled at the smallness of his fingers. Duncan was a frail thing from months of illness, a tiny thing from birth, RJ said. The brush was nearly too big for his little nails, but Steph managed all the same. For once, Duncan didn’t speak. His gaze remained fixed on his hand, eyes wide. Soon, each tiny fingernail was coated in pink, spread stiff and flat and perfectly still against the table in attempt not to smudge.

“What do you think, kiddo? You like it?”

“Yes! Now we match, mama!”

‘Mama.’ She’d survive anything, so long as he wanted to call her that.


	5. Heartache & Heat

Days grew longer, and somewhere in the distance some insect or other trilled to let the rest of the world know;  _ it’s hot.  _

Knowing the state of the world nowadays, Stephanie was not about to seek out _ that _ particular bug.

Diamond City, nestled among steel beams and salvaged metal, threatened to bake her alive. Everything clung to her, from the air and heat-stink to her clothes and hair. She and MacCready slept as far apart as humanly possible. Dogmeat spent his days snoozing in the shade and dirt to escape discomfort. Even Duncan, her sweet boy, asked for fewer cuddles because ‘everything is sticky.’

What she wouldn't give to be at the Castle right now. At least then they’d be on the water and could go swimming for a little while, or have something of a breeze for relief. Instead, her little family was resigned to light clothing and plenty of water. 

At least Sheng (or, rather, his business) was enjoying the heat. 

Steph propped every door at Home Plate open, hoping desperately for the smallest lick of wind. Even the hatch leading to the balcony above was flung wide open.

Duncan's little voice, sleepy with heat, sighed behind her. “Mama, when's it gonna stop being  _ so hot _ ?”

“I dunno, bud. We might have another month before it starts cooling down.” Lightly Steph brushed her fingers through Duncan's mop of hair. It was getting long; maybe everyone needed a haircut after sundown. Her own was beginning to brush her collarbones and her bangs started to wander into her vision. It was getting to be unbearable; Stephanie pulled her hair off her neck and out of her face.

“Mama, what’re those?”

The question came from somewhere about her bellybutton where her shirt rode up; her stretchmarks caught Duncan’s attention. 

The pit of Stephanie’s stomach went cold, dropped to the bottom of her bare feet. In all the time that Duncan was part of her life, she’d never once talked about Shaun. Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she even thought about her son. 

“You, uh, you were almost a little brother,” Stephanie fibbed, turning her attention back to the heat-drenched marketplace. “He would have been...ten? Eleven, now, maybe? His name was Shaun. Those are from when he was in my belly a long time ago.”

“Oh.” Duncan seemed to readily accept that answer, for a moment anyway. “What happened? Where is he? Are you and Daddy going to bring him here, too?...Am I gonna have to share my room?”

Ah, priorities. 

A smile, but Steph knew this lie, told it so often that it was her truth. “No, Duncan, you won’t have to share your room. He died when he was very small, sweetpea, much smaller than you are now.”

A tiny hand reached out, fingers tentative on her stomach and the lines that crossed it. Against her will, her muscles tensed. MacCready loved them, loved what they represented. He kissed them and even over her clothing traced the patterns with his fingertips. 

“Do you miss him?”

Oh, the answers she could have given.  _ No, not at all. Yes, just not as much as I should. Yes, and I want to. Yes, and I didn't have to. Yes, so much that it makes me ache into my bones. Yes, yes, yes.  _ All of them were true, and yet, none of them. 

“Yes, I do,” Steph murmured, and for the first time since starting this conversation, found Duncan’s eyes. She crouched, level with her stepson, and took pudgy fingers into her own. “But y’know somethin’, Duncan? I don't miss him as bad as I could...because I have you.”

Despite the heat and sweat, Duncan kissed his Mama on the cheek and rested his head on her shoulder. One day, Stephanie decided, she'd tell him. One day she would tell him the truth, no matter how badly it hurt. She'd tell him about Father…no,  _ Shaun _ , and the synthetic doppelgänger that could have been hers. She’d tell him about before the War, about the Vault. Hell, maybe one day she’d take him there. 

“Now, my sweet boy,” Steph began, taking the boys dainty chin in her fingertips, “why don’t you I and head to the Dugout and see if Mister Vadim has any cold Nukas for us, hm?” 


End file.
